We All Fall Down
by Leondra
Summary: The story of the last Horocrux. 'Man wonders and God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides.' Rating may change. Some GinnyHarry in later chapters.
1. Epilogue Filch

**AN: Post-war. The more you read, the more you find out. **

**Epilogue: Argus Filch- Just Like His Father

* * *

**

**Someone has to clean up all the messes. **

Mud in the foyer, tracked by rowdy Quidditch players. A snot-nosed kid in round spectacles, grinning as he dripped mud on the stone.

**Selfish, just like his father. **

My most embarrassing secret, inked in black and white for all to see. Inches from where I left it.

**Nosy, just like his father. **

Mrs. Norris, whiskers stiff and still; body stiff and still. Tail wrapped grotesquely around the torch. Red oozing into words I cannot decipher in my rage on the wall.

**Cruel, just like his father. **

A parchment erupting from the flames; his name appearing; a hero once again. He looks shocked, but I can tell it's all an act. He thinks he's invincible.

**Cocky, just like his father. **

Eyes open and glassy, spectacles cracked and splattered from tears from his little friend.

**No one can say he doesn't take after his father. **

And guess who had to clean up this mess?


	2. Epilogue Ginny

**Chapter 2- Ginny- What He Deaerves

* * *

**

(_I'll cry a little bit_.)

'**What will happen if I die?**' Harry had asked her suddenly, and she had known something like this was coming since he had crushed his lips to hers in the common room.

Ever since they'd tentatively began a relationship, she'd waited, poised and alert, for his to act horrifically noble and self-sacrificing.

But of course, being Harry, he'd waited until they'd been going out for over two months, when she'd finally begun to think that maybe she'd pre-judged him; that maybe all he was worried about was Ron's reaction, to prove her right.

He _would be _noble and self-sacrificing, and she would love him for it.

Or maybe despite of it. (She was never sure which made less sense.)

Ginny had finally been able let her guard down, to begin to ignore the voice in her head, silky smooth like death, or melting wax-

(_Riddle's voice) _

-that said it would never last.

But in the end, she was right.

But right then, she couldn't just let go- leave him alone under the giant oak tree and leaves slimy with dew.

* * *

There were several possible replies:

_I'll cry a little bit (a slightly cruel joke) _

_Everyone will miss you (the partial truth) _

_Voldemort will win (the whole truth) _

They formed inside her like Luna's wax-paper origami, but were crushed easily under her tongue before she could even think of saying them.

In the end, she'd just kissed him, hard an fierce, to chase away both their fears.

Perhaps that was the worst response of all.

* * *

**Because, in the end, she'd been wrong. **

Voldemort _had_ been defeated, and so no one cared about the single, dark mahogany coffin paraded down Hogsmeade streets; everyone was too busy celebrating.

And when it came down to it, she hadn't been able to shed a single tear.

And that was the worst part of all, because he deserves more than she can give.

He deserves more than anyone can give.


	3. Epilogue Hermione

**Chapter 3- Hermione- Life and Death Science

* * *

**

His eyes were never so green as they were that night.

They were filled with a steely determination, and as the firelight hit his glasses, his bottle-green eyes were like blazing emeralds.

Hermione had never been so afraid of him as she was in that moment.

She had never been so afraid for him as she was in that moment.

* * *

Hermione knew things were changing- she'd be stupid not to, and one thing Hermione wasn't was stupid. 

She always knew things _had_ to change; it was part of life. If people didn't change they'd die. Their white blood cells constantly had to be replenished, and if they died and new ones didn't manifest (_change_) the person _would_ die.

Hermione thought she knew about death.

She had to come to terms with the fact that she knew nothing at all.

* * *

Hermione had thought she knew about change, and she thought she knew about things staying the same.

* * *

_Homeostasis: _

_The tendency of an organism to maintain a uniform and beneficial physiological stability within and between its parts; organic equilibrium. _

_This_ doesn't meet the definition at all.

_Logically_, it does, if she doesn't try to think scientifically (_that's gotten her in trouble before_):

If she doesn't think, she can't think of Harry.

If she doesn't think of Harry, she might be all right.

But she knows better, even though she wishes she didn't.

Nothing about this is uniform- she's just in denial.

Things have changed so irreparably that she doesn't think things can ever change again.

* * *

She and Ron are just stuck, stuck in a sick version of homeostasis as the wizarding world celebrates, and the fireworks are reflected in the infamous spectacles that Ron holds. 

He still can't remember that damn _reparo _spell, so the glasses remain cracked. Forever, or until Hermione's hands stop shaking so badly that she can't get a firm grip on her wand.

Whichever comes first.


End file.
